Page 1 of Home Run Fiancé
1
February
Jake
I’ve reached my breaking point.
Slamming the door to my condo shut behind me, I tug on my collar, feeling like I can’t get a full breath into my lungs. The silk tie slides through my fingers as I grapple with it. I need it off my neck right freaking now. Asher’s already on a phone call, either with his assistant to get a statement out to the press right away, or to my team’s manager with the news. The tie finally cooperates and I toss it onto the glass table. My suit jacket follows, a crumpled heap that would make my tailor faint. I really shouldn’t wrinkle a three-thousand-dollar suit—I’m not that big of a prima donna—but today has been an exceptionally frustrating day.
I shouldn’t even be in a suit. I should be out at the batting cages with my teammates, getting ready for Spring Training. Right before Thanksgiving, a woman I’d gone on a couple dates with went to the press and told them she was pregnant with my baby. As her side of the story went, when she’d told me the news, I’d dumped her and refused to have anything to do with her.
The accusation was so preposterous I laughed when I first heard it, thinking Asher, my agent, was pulling a prank on me. She and I were so casual I hesitated to even call us dating. We’d met through a mutual friend at a party and had gone to a few social events together when I needed a date and she wanted a nice evening out on the fancy side of town. It was entirely mutual to go our separate ways as we had zero chemistry. We hadn’t even taken things farther than a simple peck on the cheek at the end of our “dates.”
I’m foggy on anatomy and physiology, but I’m pretty sure you can’t get pregnant from a kiss on the cheek. I’d told everything to Asher, and to the press, but I found myself having to hire a legal team and appear in court when she didn’t immediately drop it. After shelling out the cash for a noninvasive DNA test, we’d shown up in court that morning to learn the results.
She’d burst into tears when the judge read the baby wasn’t mine. He’d given her a stern talking to, suspecting she’d only made the accusation because she thought she could shake me down for some money.
I could barely look at her. I just thanked the judge for his time and walked out of the courthouse to flashing cameras, head held high.
Didn’t stop me from being frustrated though.
I’m so sick of women using my professional athlete status for their own gain. Jake Kersh is no longer a guy who likes to play baseball. I’m a commodity, a celebrity of sorts, to be used and discarded at whim.
“Yeah, that sounds perfect. Release it immediately.” Asher hangs up and flops down onto the opposite end of the black leather couch. He’s already re-dialing. “Gotta call Joe.”
I lay my head back on the couch cushion and close my eyes. One measured breath at a time brought my adrenaline down slowly but surely, just like in the early days when I’d be petrified to take the field. Back then I would have never thought I’d need the same technique for a situation like this. Back then, I just wanted to play the game. Still wanted to just play the game, but when you’ve gone to the World Series twice and hit home runs on the regular, you got famous enough to be recognized on the street and things changed.
Asher droned on and on to Joe, the general manager of the Los Angeles Dangers, the professional baseball team I played for. They hadn’t been happy about the accusations either, telling me to get it taken care of without tarnishing their reputation and then get my head back in the game.
Thank goodness for Asher Close. He’s been my agent for ten years and I couldn’t be in this profession without him. We’d been in an elevator together in the same hotel, on our way to my high school’s baseball award ceremony ten years ago. He was just starting out as a sports agent, visiting with high school athlete hopefuls, trying to score some clients even if it was a long shot. A gorgeous girl had gotten on the elevator too, but exited just one floor down, not nearly long enough for either of us to try out a line on her. As soon as the doors slid shut, Asher looked at me and said, “How come the elevator never breaks down when you want it to?”
I’d been thinking along the same lines, so we laughed together and introduced ourselves. Right from the beginning he’d given off a good vibe. Honest. Upstanding. Trustworthy. Could have been his boy-next-door good looks, or the way he’d get everyone to laugh with him. He looked like a freaking cherub. Maybe it was the fact he was only a couple years older than me and really seemed to understand me. Not long after that elevator ride, I’d been drafted straight onto a farm team in Oklahoma City with talks of bumping me up to the majors sooner rather than later. After telling my mom and my brother the news, my first call had been to Asher. He worked for me for peanuts the first few years, treating me like I was a bigger deal than I was. When I got bumped up and got paid better, I made sure he was paid the going rate. Every deal that had gotten me to where I am is because of him. We became friends over the years, and I trust him implicitly.
“Dude. It’s done.” Asher places his phone down on the glass table and looks over at me with a big grin.
I pop my eyes open and look over at him warily.
“What? Aren’t you happy with the outcome?” He splays his hands out like all is well in the world.
“Happy?” Lifting my head, I give him a glare. “No, I’m not happy. I should never have been accused in the first place. I should never have had to hire that lawyer, or give repeated press conferences, or waste my time managing the press’s gossip about me. Yeah, it’s over, but I ain’t happy.”
He nods, a serious expression on his face, but I know him. He’s already slipping into “placate Jake mode.” I hate when he does that. Makes me feel like some egomaniac celebrity client who needs to be handled with kid gloves.
I cut him off before he can get started, hopping up with the intention to change out of the constricting suit. “I’m disgusted by women in general at the moment. Maybe for a long while. I just want to get out on the field and play.”
Asher hops up too, trailing me through my condo. “I get that. I totally do. But here’s the thing.” He grabs my arm, stopping me just outside my bedroom doorway. “Your reputation sucked long before that woman came forward. You know that, I know that, and more importantly, Bobby Maddon knows that.”
I clench my jaw, not needing this crap right now. “All of which you know is not my fault.”
Asher folds his arms across his chest like he intends to stay a while. “You can keep saying that all you want, but the fact remains, your reputation speaks far louder than anything you can say in a negotiation. Bobby’s not going to take you on if you’re known to be nothing but trouble.”
“I’m not trouble!” I run my hands through my hair, messing up the carefully gelled style meant to impress the judge. “Damn women just keep complicating things and then the paparazzi is right there taking pictures at the wrong time. They don’t even bother to ask me to get the real story, they just make crap up and publish it.”
“Listen, I believe you. You know I do. But I also know we have to clean up your image so Bobby will believe you and be open to trade talks. You know how Texas is. They want good ol’ boys, not big city punks who don’t care for rules.”
Yeah, I know exactly how Texans are. I’d grown up there, my family and friends were still there. And if things go my way for once, I’ll be moving back there this season to play for the Texas Sliders. Don’t get me wrong, I love playing for the Dangers. They gave me my first chance and stuck by me for ten years. I owe my career to them.
But my mama is sick. And she trumps everyone.
